


Renegade Redemption

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Rape, Rape Recovery, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard is angry and does something terrible to Samantha. Can she find redemption?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Violation

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING (spoiler)
> 
> The first chapter contains a disturbing and unpleasant assault on an innocent Samantha Traynor by an unhappy, fucked-up Shepard. It is kind of sad. The rest is about regret and the road to forgiveness and is much less graphic.
> 
> WARNING
> 
> This was written as a fill for an old kink meme prompt.  
> http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/7415.html?thread=36110839#t36110839
> 
> Original prompt:
> 
> "After finishing the Collectors off, Shep decides she needs some time alone and goes into a house to chill for a few moments. When she walks in she is met with the sight of a nude woman in her mid 20's, and Shepard just resist the urge to cop a feel.
> 
> Well one thing leads to another and pretty soon Shepard has her fingers buried in the girl and is outright having her with the paralyzed woman. Eventually the shuttle arrives and it's time to leave, but not before Shepard work some magic with her tongue and left the girl absolutely ravished.
> 
> Fast forward a few months later to that awkward moment when Shepard realizes her Comm's specialist was the girl on Horizon, and Traynor recognizes the commander as the woman who molested her.
> 
> \+ Lots of dirty talk from Shepard as she molests Traynor  
> \+ Traynor gets payback in the form of Shepard being bound, gagged and completely at her mercy."

Just who in the _hell_ did Ashley Williams think she was? As Shepard kicked at the door to the nearest dwelling, she realised that she meant that question two ways.

“I'm going off comm,” she informed her team. “Get scans of everything the Collectors left, then meet me back at the shuttle in thirty.” She hesitated. Should she ask Garrus to talk to Ashley? Placate her somehow? Ah, fuck it. The bitch had her head up so far up her ass, Garrus would need a ladder. “Shepard out.”

Once inside the relative privacy of the standard colonist housing unit, Shepard cracked her helmet off and threw it against the wall. It bounced harmlessly off, leaving a dent in the flimsy prefab wall. The thing of it was, Ashley had a point, and Shepard hated that. Cerberus _were_ terrorists. She knew that. But she had to work with them. The Alliance wasn't doing a damn thing to stop the Collectors.

Why couldn't Ashley see that? Why couldn't she just trust the woman who'd saved her life, more than once? That goddamn preachy _bitch_. She must think that Shepard was just a clone. A tool of Cerberus. It wasn't enough she was putting her life on the line again? She had to do it all by the book too?

Fuck that. Fuck Williams and her grand-daddy too.

Shepard unslung her rifle and thunked it down on the kitchen table. The trouble with being a soldier after the fight was, when you got angry and frustrated, you had already shot a bunch of people in the face. All other options for blowing off steam came up short, in comparison. 

Well, there was _one_ other option, but that had been a conspicuous absence in her life recently. Glowing scars had a remarkably negative effect on even casual partners. And she was damned if she was going to pay for it. She still had _some_ pride.

Her armored fist enlarged the dent the helmet had made. Again, no significant damage to armor or hand. Yep, sexual frustration and rage were an unhealthy mix. Why did Ashley have to be so fucking _hot_? She bit back the urge to scream and shout. Shepard knew she didn't have a chance with her. And she knew that it didn't matter what the messenger looked like. 

But she just hated the fact that a woman she lusted after thought so little of her. It was undermining her self-confidence and she knew it, and she was pissed off because there wasn't anything she could do about it. She couldn't stop caring about what Ashley thought. She could just see the mission through, and prove her wrong, maybe, and even that might not be enough for the puritanical harpy who had an answer for everything.

Shepard stomped through the one-floor dwelling, her boots leaving stains. She didn't give a damn. She needed to find a sofa, or a bed, and have an angry one-handed conversation with herself someplace that wasn't filled to the rafters with surveillance devices.

Jackpot. Bedroom. Fuck. Occupied. Paralyzed colonist. Shit. Two paralyzed colonists. What the f...? Two paralyzed colonists in some kind of... Shepard just _had_ to take a closer look at this.

A big blonde stood by the wall. Make that backed against the wall. She looked apprehensive. She was dressed in the tight spandex pants and loose nylon jersey of a football uniform, both predominantly yellow, matching her hair nicely, Shepard thought. A good piece of ass, for a yokel farmgirl on a remote colony. Cute features, some muscle, decent legs. Hair tied back, sweatband and scrunchie keeping it out of her face. Hands behind her back, one hand gripping the wrist of the other. 

Paralyzed but clearly awake, her eyes were the only thing that moved. _Horizon North Football_ , read the logo on her uniform. Number 7. Shepard guessed from her physique that she would be a running back. 

In front of her, standing immobile a metre or so away, was the devil. Or at the very least, one of her henchmen. Nothing quite so well-formed should be able to convey hunger, malice, and the promise of unimaginable suffering with only a quirk of the lips, the delicate set of an eyebrow.

She was _cute_. A fact that only confirmed her demonic nature. The devil had the hottest footsoldiers. Six inches shorter than the football player, small and dark where the other was tall and blonde, she was dressed in a brown skirt and a red T-shirt. _Horizon South Football_ , this one said.

Shepard orbited the tableau, getting a closer look. The eyes of the two involuntary performers followed her around.

“So this is...” Shepard mused aloud. “This is what I'm fighting for?” She stood where they could both see her. Her anger, concealed momentarily by surprise, had returned. “So you provincial fucking hayseeds can spend your time... what the fuck is this, anyway?”

Shepard looked at them both again. She was shaking with rage, and she didn't quite know why. Realisation dawned upon her. “Oh, fuck me. You're telling her she's playing for the wrong team, aren't you?” As above, so below. Shepard was taking it personally. Her very real confrontation with Ashley was being trivialised, turned into a bedroom power game. No matter that it was a coincidence. 

She went to stand behind the short dark girl, and whispered menacingly into her ear. “You think I don't know what all you prissy little bitches are like? You have to be right all the fucking time, and you know every-fucking-thing already, don't you?”

Shepard worked her fingers out of her armored gloves and tossed them on the bed. “Well, you don't know a fucking thing. You don't know what it's like ordering people to die. Making the tough calls. You don't have to live with it.”

She slid her hand under the brown skirt and found wetness immediately. No panties. That meant: “This is a fucking game to you, isn't it? Fucking with her head. It gets you off.”

Shepard ran her finger over the wet slit, mapping out the well lubricated folds. She wondered if the short girl had been frozen in this aroused state or if it was a more recent development. “Oh yeah, maybe it turns her on, too. Maybe she says she likes it. But she's strung out on you, and you don't really give a shit about her. She's just another big dumb jock to you, isn't she? Another piece of meat.”

She slipped a finger inside the dark girl's vagina, curling it to reach deeper inside. “Well, I'm going to show you what it's like. For someone to fuck with you like that, for a change.” Two fingers. Pumping.

“You think it's just words. You think she can stop you anytime.” Shepard brushed her thumb over the dry entry to the shorter woman's asshole, all the while pumping her fingers in and out of her. Unable to move or change their expressions, the two paralyzed women were unresponsive. But the blonde had her eyes fixed on Shepard. 

“But she can't. She won't. She wants your approval so bad. You don't understand the power you have, you think it's just a fucking game.” Shepard let the first joint of her thumb probe the rear entry.

“Look at her. See her eyes. She's ready to die for you. To stop me,” Shepard said. “You've fucking brainwashed her with your bullshit.” She leaned in close to the short dark woman, and reached around with her other hand to assault the areas she had been unable to reach from behind. She found the nubbin she was looking for, and flicked at it hard enough that it would hurt.

“Well, this is what's it's like when someone fucks with you. Now you have two choices,” she said, winding up the rate at which she assaulted the spots around her fingers, thrusting deeper into both holes with every stroke. “Just kidding. You don't have a choice. You're going to fucking come on my hand. Right fucking now.”

Crying was allowed by the paralysis, evidently, as Shepard could see from up close, her chin tucked over the short girl's shoulder, her armor pressed against her back. But her vagina and asshole spasmed and clenched anyway, despite the tears. 

“Fucking loser,” spat Shepard, withdrawing her hands. “Goddamn hillbilly domme. You wouldn't last five minutes in my world.” She wiped her hand on the girl's face, getting a good smear of juice under her nose. “That's what you smell like, right now, bitch. That's what I did to you. You think about that, the next time you want to play mindfuck.”

Shepard paused in front of the blonde on her way out. “And you. Grow a fucking pair. The Reapers are coming.”

Gathering her gloves, helmet and gun, Shepard left. She weighed the guilt that immediately settled upon her as the door slid shut behind her against Virmire. Against the SR1, burning up in the night sky. Against working with terrorists. Nowhere near, she told herself. If the price of her keeping her sane was violating one dumb colony girl... she could pay that a thousand times.

Then why _the fuck_ didn't she feel better already?


	2. Pretense

The nightmares had picked up where the action had left off. Six months in the stockade with nothing to do but push-ups and talk trash with the hulking marine assigned as her jailer, and they were coming for her every night. The ones she'd lost. Kaidan and the others. And the ones she'd put down, slinking down from the ceiling where they hid during the day. Saren, the Geth, Collectors and all flavours of mercs. Reapers, coming to slip poison into her ear at night, no amount of tossing and turning putting them off.

And one very still, brown-skinned girl with tears in her eyes. That was how she woke up these days, heart pounding, sure that she was there in the corner of the room, staring her down, motionless, unblinking. Unable to look over there, in case she made eye contact, and couldn't look away again.

Shepard had never regretted anything so much as losing control on Horizon. Sure, she made the tough choices. OK, she lived with the consequences. But she got things done. What had happened there was... inexcusable. If she got through this war, if Horizon got through it, she'd go back there and make amends. Whatever it took. Making that promise to herself, she felt a little better. She had something to live for, after all, even if it was just to offer herself up in penance.

And now there was Williams, picking up where she had left off, needling her about Cerberus, _are you still a Cerberus bitch, Commander, do you wear Cerberus panties, Commander_ , before getting herself beaten senseless. Fuck. Now Shepard couldn't even sit her down and call her out for her paranoid bullshit. 

She hadn't had five minutes to herself since storming the Mars archive. Liara wanted something. It was always someone, there was always something. She'd forgotten how it was, on board a ship. She mollified Liara as quickly as she could and, thank god, she was about to leave, but here came the next one...

“Commander Shepard? I'm Comm Specialist Samantha Traynor...”

Shepard stopped breathing. It was her. It was the same girl. There was no mistake. She was a soldier. All right, a desk jockey, not a fighter, but an Alliance marine nonetheless. And she was awkward, and nervous, and shy. Not afraid, or shaking with cold fury. None of the reactions you might expect when coming face-to-face with your rapist, who happened to be your commanding officer. 

Did she recognise her? Had she gotten a proper look? Maybe her eyeballs had dried out and she hadn't been able to focus. But then the second she opened her mouth, she'd recognise her voice, thought Shepard. She should try and talk funny. She should disguise her voice. It was the only hope.

But as Traynor stuttered and stumbled over her introduction, without displaying even a flicker of recognition, Shepard came to another conclusion, and relief flooded through her. She was desperate for forgiveness, but she wasn't to be afforded that comfort. She'd only just realised what she needed to do, and then the war had started, and other priorities had taken over. No. She'd keep this one safe. She'd lay down her life if necessary. She'd make it up to her.

Because it was clear that Specialist Samantha Traynor didn't remember her. Maybe she didn't remember anything that had happened on Horizon. Perhaps the medical teams had given her a short-term memory suppressant to help her deal with the trauma of nearly being Collected. That would make sense. And it would conveniently block out the things Shepard had done to her too. 

But that also meant that an apology was out of the question. Shepard couldn't risk bringing the memory to the surface, where it would hurt her all over again. Best to let it lie.

Shepard composed herself into her most cheery, welcoming persona. The one she hadn't had a use for in months. She hadn't been happy, working for Cerberus. But there had been moments, aboard the Normandy, sitting at the mess with Garrus and Tali...

Hell. Who was she kidding. If it came down to it, if sacrifices had to be made, Samantha would go the way of all the other collateral damage. Nothing was more important than stopping the Reapers. 

Still. She should make the effort. She should at least try.

Shepard hoped the conflict didn't show on her face as she listened politely to Samantha's explanations about which way on the ship was up. Lesson two: the ass is located within reach of both hands. Can you find your ass, Commander?


	3. Redemption

“Traynor?” Shepard called down over the comm. “Want to come up? I have some free time.”

Shepard had started out by compromising. She snapped at other crew members. She gave Vega the bloody nose that she'd been dreaming about giving him since he first cracked wise with her. When it came to Samantha, however, she was downright chummy. She listened, nodded and smiled, was free with words of encouragement. 

And she began to realise that it was worth it, if only because it made Samantha better at her job, and that job seemed to include kicking Cerberus in the teeth every chance she got. And it was also her penance. Not by any means enough. But a start. So it wasn't a compromise any more. She wasn't faking it. And she slowly stopped making life hell for the rest of the crew, and listened to them a little bit more. It wasn't hard. It was what Samantha would do, wasn't it?

Now Samantha was on her way up, and Shepard was going to indulge her in a game of chess, a game she hated for its inflexibility and cold logic. There were no lateral moves. No way to tilt the battleground in her favour. No high ground to occupy. Just two armies, slinging mud in the trenches until the last ones standing had nowhere left to run. It freaked her out, but she'd play, and she'd pretend to be having fun.

She'd spend the time watching Samantha, who, she had to admit, looked damned fine in uniform. Her slender neck poking out of the high collar never failed to get Shepard thinking about what that flawless brown skin tasted like. And then she'd remember the time she had her chin tucked in there, the time she was ashamed of, and that would be compounded by her undeniable arousal.

But Samantha wasn't in uniform. She was in a red T-shirt that Shepard had seen before. _Horizon South Football_. She hadn't noticed before how well it fit her, how it clung to her curves.

“Nice... nice T-shirt,” said Shepard, trying to hide her nervousness. She didn't want to think about that time. She didn't want to hurt Samantha again.

“Go Southies,” said Samantha, smiling but without much enthusiasm. “We're not very imaginative on Horizon. Can you guess what the other team is called?”

“You only have two teams?”

“It's not a big colony, Shepard,” replied Samantha.

“Hmm,” said Shepard, playing for time. “Let me see. The Horizon _Verticals_.”

“Ooh, I'll have to suggest that to the basketball league,” said Samantha, laughing. “They're currently called the _Bouncers_ and the _Dribblers_.”

“Your people are kind of lame, Samantha,” joked Shepard. “So what position did you play?” Samantha, with her allergies, migraines, and mild OCD, was an unlikely candidate for football, and Shepard knew it.

“Shall we get down to it, or would you rather mock me all night long?” came Samantha's snappy comeback.

“Yes, ma'am,” said Shepard, booting up the chess board. Samantha looked at her for a moment, an unreadable expression flitting across her features. Just a hint of the predator that Shepard had once seen fixed on her face. 

Wow. Was Samantha going to press her case, tonight? Their exchanges had been flirtatious more than once. Shepard wasn't sure how she felt about that. She didn't know if her guilt would let her take advantage of Samantha again. But if it was something Samantha initiated? What then?

Since Shepard's skills at the chess board were limited, the game was thankfully short.

“You're really bad at chess, Shepard,” said Samantha. “I mean, you're worse than my mum.”

“So you're saying I'm like family to you?” quipped Shepard.

Samantha regarded her coolly, unamused. “Drink your tea, Commander. It'll get cold.”

Shepard took a sip. It was better warm. Tea was another way she tried to indulge Samantha, although it didn't do much for her. And if she let it get cold, it would be disgusting. Samantha, meanwhile, was just sitting back in her chair, looking at her.

“Good,” said Samantha, eventually. “I hate to see good tea go to waste.” She shifted in her seat. “Shepard, there's something I want to ask you about.”

“You know you can ask me anything, Sam,” said Shepard reassuringly.

Samantha looked serious. A little disturbed, perhaps. She stood and took a couple of paces across the cabin before turning. “Do you think you're OK?”

That wasn't what Shepard had been expecting. “OK?” she snorted. “Sure. Never better.”

“I only ask, Shepard, because I think you're not.” Samantha came over to sit next to her on the sofa. “Sometimes I think you're a cold-hearted bitch.” Shepard flinched. That was the saltiest word she had ever heard Samantha use, and it was strangely exciting. Only Samantha could get away with saying something like that to her. “Sometimes, when I see the choices you make...” Samantha put an elbow on the back of the sofa and twisted on the seat to face her. Earnest wouldn't describe it. Deadly serious would. “There are better choices. You could do better.”

“We have to get the job done. No matter what,” argued Shepard. “ _I_ have to.”

“Believe me, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes,” said Samantha. “But do you always have to shoot people in the face to make your point?”

Shepard's shoulders slumped. “Once you get a rep for that kind of thing... it makes it easier,” she explained. “Most people'll back down. But if they don't...”

Samantha reached out to place a hand on Shepard's arm. “And what about appealing to their better nature?” It was, Shepard realised, the first time that Samantha had touched her, the first physical contact they'd had since Horizon.

“I don't...” Shepard began. “I mean, that'd be great. But it doesn't work like that. Everyone knows what I'm like. If I start _negotiating_ ,” she spat the dirty word, “they'll walk all over me.”

“Oh, honey,” said Samantha, tilting her head to the side and looking disappointed. “You could be such a _good_ girl if you just tried.”

Shepard's cheeks flushed. But she was angry rather than embarrassed. She owed Samantha a debt, it was true. But she was being naïve and it was annoying. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Specialist,” she said with a more than a hint of sarcasm.

“And we're back,” said Samantha. “I guess we'll do it the hard way.”

“Maybe we should call it a night, Samantha,” suggested Shepard. She didn't want to have a fight with her.

“Not just yet, Commander,” replied Samantha. “The drugs I put in your tea should be kicking in momentarily.”

Shepard was shocked for a moment. “What the fuck? EDI! Get Doctor Chakwas up here!”

“Shh, don't worry Commander,” said Samantha, patting her arm reassuringly. “You know I wouldn't ever hurt you. Not even if there wasn't a war on.”

Shepard actually believed her, but wasn't about to give up so easily. “EDI! EDI?” she called again, but there was no response.

“You forget, Shepard, I was part of the refit crew. EDI isn't watching right now,” said Samantha.

Shepard started to stand up from the sofa, but somehow Samantha had acquired enormous strength and was able to keep her down with just one hand on her shoulder. “What do you think you're doing, Samantha?” she asked, incredulously.

“Something someone should have done a long time ago, Commander,” replied Samantha. “But first, don't worry. It'll wear off in thirty minutes. If there's an emergency, I'll give you the antidote straight away. Do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?” complained Shepard. She could barely lift a finger. She was just about able to remain upright on the sofa, and that might only have been because of Samantha's hand. “What did you give me?”

“A mild paralytic. Neck down.”

“And what do you want?”

“ _Vengeance_ ,” said Samantha, her features composed into the look that Shepard had last seen on Horizon. Malicious, hungry, and promising. “Oh! Your face!” Samantha laughed. “I'm sorry, Shepard, I couldn't resist.”

Shepard's heart had done a backflip. Was Samantha completely psychotic? Drugging a superior officer?

Samantha's mood seemed to improve dramatically. “Don't think I haven't noticed how you look at me when you think I'm not watching, Commander,” she said playfully. “You want me, I can see it in your eyes.” She sighed, and ran the tips of her fingers through Shepard's hair, brushing it out of her eyes.

“I'm afraid I haven't been very honest with you, Shepard,” she continued. “I've been pretending that I could forget what happened to me on Horizon.” Oh no. Not that. Shepard's heart sank. “What you did to me.”

“Samantha...” Shepard began.

“It's not a good idea to interrupt, love, not in your position,” said Samantha, patting her shoulder. “In half an hour, if you still want to, you can have me court-martialed, or keel-hauled, or just shot. But right now, be a good girl, and speak when spoken to. Understood?” Samantha drew her knees up onto the sofa and settled in.

Shepard found that nodding was difficult. “Yes,” she said, and left it at that. Half an hour. Not so long.

“I suppose if I'd been able to fight you even a little bit, it would have been worse. Much worse. Don't get me wrong, I was pretty upset. Angry, mostly. But I got over that. I knew who you were. I found out everything I could. And the more I learned, the better I understood, and the sadder I got.”

Samantha climbed up on her knees and straddled Shepard's immobilised body. “You're such a beautiful thing, Shepard. So powerful. You're our avenging angel,” she said, speaking down to Shepard, whose head was slumped back against the sofa. “But you're a bit stupid.”

Shepard's mouth fell open. Samantha used a finger under her chin to close it again.

“I had some good chats with Ashley while she was still on Horizon. After they got us all unfrozen.” She paused to listen to Shepard's unspoken question. “I know, between the stick up her arse and the chip on her shoulder... but she was right about one thing. You should never have worked for Cerberus.”

Shepard couldn't contain herself. “They worked for me!”

Samantha looked sad. “They used you, Shepard. And you let them.”

“It wasn't like that,” protested Shepard.

“And yet you gave the Illusive Man everything he wanted,” countered Samantha. “The Collector Base, for example.”

“Well, I'm not doing that anymore!”

“And would you be, _if it wasn't for me_?” asked Samantha. “Digging up the intel, and pointing you in the right direction?”

Shepard had no immediate answer. Samantha surprised her yet again, this time by slipping down to slide her arms around her neck and hold her close, closing her eyes and curling up around her. “It's OK, Shepard. It doesn't matter anymore.”

Samantha sniffled a little. “What someone should have done for you, what Ashley should have done,” she began. She pulled back to look into Shepard's eyes again. “Is forgive you. I forgive you, Shepard. For all of it.”

“But from now on,” she continued, her gaze hardening, “you're going to be a good girl. You're going to do it _right_. You're going to do right by me, by Ash, and all the people you've let down.”

Shepard opened her mouth to speak. Samantha's forgiveness, if real, was a huge relief. But she was asking too much. It was too late for her to change like that.

Samantha put a finger over her lips. “Of course you can, Shepard. I believe in you. And most of all, you know you want to. You want to be my good girl. To make me proud. Don't you?”

Tears finally came to fill the corners of Shepard's eyes. “I want to. So. Much,” she said, her voice wavering.

“That's my girl,” whispered Samantha. She closed the short distance between them, and let her lips brush against Shepard's. 

Then she pulled away, and got to her feet, disentangling their limbs. She took Shepard by the hand and yanked hard.

Shepard jolted to her feet and didn't fall over. The drug had worn off. Had it been half an hour already? She counted her arms and legs in disbelief.

“And that,” announced Samantha triumphantly, her devilish look returning, “is how this _hillbilly domme_ does it.” She laughed at Shepard, who was feeling her extremities for signs of numbness. “You're fine, you big lunk. It wore off ages ago. I just convinced you otherwise.” 

Shepard looked Samantha in the eyes. “Do you still... do you still forgive me?” she asked in a small voice. 

Samantha smiled a brilliant, reassuring smile. “As long as you try,” she said, “I'll always forgive you.” She took Shepard by the hand. 

“You're a mess,” she added. “You need a shower.”


End file.
